


make me laugh, baby

by josiebelladonna



Category: Anthrax (US Band), Bandom, Rihanna (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Artists, Art, Artists, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Modeling, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Sculpture, Shipping these three 'cause I feel like it, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism, nice little art theme we have going here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23032471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiebelladonna/pseuds/josiebelladonna
Summary: Alternate universe where Joey is caught up between Charlie and Rihanna, much to his chagrin. But she must make it up to the both of them in the best way she knows.
Relationships: Charlie Benante/Rihanna, Joey Belladonna/Rihanna
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	make me laugh, baby

**Author's Note:**

> You guys weren't expecting this now, were ya? Ha ha!

“What in Alabama cousin fuckin' sweet baby Jesus crocodile hunter is going on around here?”

That was all Joey could say when he realized she was using him. His palms sweated and he felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to faint. Or better yet, he wanted to die. Just sink through the floor and die.

How could she? How could she play with his heart and his body like that, and not to mention betray Charlie's trust in the way she did? It made no sense. It almost felt like she was driving a wedge between them. But it made no sense for her to do that.

She was the fine artist who had emigrated to New York from Barbados to live out her dream and she met Charlie in the process. He had the deep, profound interest in the arts. Joey was sure the two of them had met each other's match: from the hearts in their eyes at the sight of one another to the fact he always praised her delicate, yet stark style of sculpting and shared it with everyone he knew. She gave her soul onto paper and then from paper into ceramics: she even chose the cover art for _Among the Living_ and volunteered to do the same for _State of Euphoria_!

And what was Joey? The jock bachelor hailing from upstate New York with a small gap in the side of his teeth and scarcely any artistic taste. He had nothing on her, and he had nothing on her art skills. She was too good for him: he knew that for a fact.

But then she knocked on his door one evening, and she told him she and Charlie broke up, much to his shock.

He let her inside for a drink and a bite of blueberry muffin.

They started talking about what had happened. She sat close to him on his shabby tweed sofa with the glass of ginger ale cradled in her lap. He gazed into her brilliant eyes, which were striking juxtaposed to her dark skin and her straightened hair, which she dyed fiery cherry red. He confessed that he never thought a black Caribbean girl and an Injun boy could coalesce and get along so well. She agreed with him.

Thus ensued the awkward pause.

The next thing Joey knew, he lay on his back there on the couch as she blew and fondled him and delayed his orgasm. In hindsight, the blood rushing to his head should have helped him think on a clearer level.

But no. He was clueless. Completely oblivious to the truth.

And then his phone rang.

Charlie's worried voice seared through his memory. He told Joey that Robyn had left his apartment without telling him where she was going or when she was coming back.

He could only assume the worst right then.

Oh God. Oh, hell no!

Joey hurried into his bathroom and shut the door behind him. He leaned his back against the door panels and closed his eyes. His stomach reeled and his knees quivered. He wished for a glass of ginger ale himself as his knees soon buckled. He sank down to the floor and took a seat there on the tiles.

He rested his wrists on his slender knees. He dared not move as even the slightest motion could send his poor stomach into a frenzy.

He could hardly breathe as every swallow closed his throat and left it feeling raw and parched. No amount of water or ginger ale could quench his thirst. His mind raced. What could he say to Charlie? Moreover, what could he say to her?

Meanwhile, his genitals felt raw and exposed right there underneath his jeans. Poked, prodded, licked, sucked on, and handled like a slab of raw steak at the supermarket.

His chest heaved as he tried to hold back the tears. But they were coming whether he wanted them to or not.

And then a knock on the door, one right above his head, jolted him.

“Joey?”

“No,” he blurted out, his voice breaking with tears and nausea.

“Joey—listen to me,” she begged in a soft voice. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“Why the fuck did you lie to me?”

“Because I needed a break from Charlie and the City,” she replied, blunt.

“That's not an excuse to use me, though,” he argued, his heart pounding inside of his chest and his closed eyes burning with tears. “And that's not an—an excuse to lie to Charlie, either. Fucking—fuck.”

Joey bowed his head into his knees. He wanted to be alone in the dark. Not have anyone around him. Not have another worry in the world.

“Joey,” she pled. “Joey—” The doorknob jiggled right above his head.

“No!” he cried out, lifting his head and clasping his hand to the doorknob to hold it in place. “No! Don't you dare come in!”

“Joey, listen to me! Listen to me!” He could hear tears in her voice, even there on the other side of the door. He held still there with his hand on the knob.

“Listen to me, please,” she wept, “sometimes we all need a break from each other. And sometimes we need to take that break without giving a reason. You know how Charlie is.”

“I—I do,” he answered in a small voice. She didn't continue but he knew she was crying, too. He let go of the doorknob because he knew she wouldn't be walking in there.

To be fair, neither of them knew Charlie would call him, and Joey himself had no idea he would carry such a fretful tone of voice as if she had gone missing. As he steadied his breathing, and his heart began calming down, and the sick feeling in his stomach subsided, rational thought began to take over. Maybe he jumped to conclusions, and maybe she did, too. He sniffled and brushed away a tear with the base of his palm.

Joey stretched out his legs and rolled a bit onto his hip. He kept his eyes closed and his hands on his slim belly to alleviate the nausea a bit more.

“Look—I'll make it up to the both of you,” she finally said on the other side of the panel, her voice weary from crying herself. “Come on over to the art gallery and let me fix this. It's my fault—I shouldn't have slept with you and I shouldn't have done that to Charlie, either. I should have made it known to him that I wanted to step away for a while and come to a remote place. Please forgive me, Joey. Please. I never meant to hurt you. Just make you feel good.”

His bottom lip trembled as he climbed to his knees. Even while still down there on the hard floor, he managed to open the door to reveal her lovely heart shaped face swollen and reddened with tears. He was down on his knees as he was the one begging for forgiveness.

But then she knelt down before him on the carpet. He lunged for her and put his arms around her.

She bowed her head into his shoulder. He sighed through his nose as he ran his hand over the back of her smooth hair.

“You're a sweetie pie,” she whispered into his ear. “You deserve all the softness.”

***************************************************

Two days later, Joey made the day trip down to Harlem to her art gallery to meet up with Robyn and Charlie. He wondered what she had in store for the both of them as he parked at the curb outside of the glass front doors. Across the street stood a quaint, intimate lit cafe: he thought of going there with the both of them afterwards.

He stepped inside of the front part of the gallery, where she had set up a pair of black wooden stools in the midst of a pale eggshell white tarp. Next to either of the two stools stood a pale block of what resembled to marble. On the side of the room stood a basin filled with clean water.

He strode towards the stool on the right to find a handwritten note.

“ _Joey—_

_If you're here before me and Charlie, I want you to go ahead and take off your clothes. I'll be giving you boys a Bajan Swedish message for the pleasure of the each of us._

_Love, R_ ”

He cracked a lopsided smile at the gesture and then stuffed the note into his jacket pocket. He peeled off his jacket and strode on over to the other side of the room to hang it up.

Before he could return to the stools there, he spotted Charlie and Robyn, who already wore her stained pale gray smock, nearing the front door themselves. He held the door for her and her face lit up at the sight of Joey.

“There he is!”

The door closed at a slow pace right behind Charlie's back, such that the cool draft blew up some of his long wavy dark hair over his shoulders. Joey clasped on his head to keep his hair in place.

“Alright, boys—get naked for me,” she commanded.

Joey and Charlie glanced at each other; the former raised his eyebrows, and the latter shrugged at him.

But she wanted them to do it for her. Joey was the first to take off his shirt and his skinny jeans: he was about to remove his Chucks when she stopped him.

“Leave those on.” She turned to Charlie, who leaned his butt against the wall to take off his plain black shoes. “You, too.”

What she said was what she wanted.

Joey took his seat there on the stool on the right, while Charlie took the other one.

“So what're you gonna do, like draw us or something first?” the former asked.

“Nope,” she replied, interlocking her fingers and outstretching her arms over her head. She stretched her hands.

Robyn then turned to Charlie first, who gazed on at her from underneath his wavy bangs. Her brilliant irises locked onto his tiny black beetles for eyes; she ran her fingers through his thick luscious hair so it stayed off of his neck. Or maybe she just wanted to run her fingers through his hair.

His skin was like bone china, much to her pleasure as she let her hand make its way to his upper back and his fine shoulders. Her fingers glided down the sides of his arms. Touching every inch of him. Feeling his rhythm and the curvature of his body. She closed her eyes as she moved her hands onto his chest.

Joey watched her caress him down with his hands resting in his lap. He wondered if she would do that exact thing when she turned to the gray block next to Charlie. They watched her lay her hands on it and press down on it.

It was clay.

She fondled it and smoothed down the top to imitate the form of Charlie's shoulders and the base of his neck.

Incredible sensory memory on her part!

When she had the basic shape of his shoulders and his back molded, she turned to the basin of water on the other side of the room. She washed the residual clay from the palms of her hands, and dried them on the sides of her smock.

She ambled up to Joey to do the same to him. He nibbled on his bottom lip as her fingertips glided over his smooth brown skin like feathers.

“Little drummer boys have nice muscles and beautiful shoulders,” she remarked as she caressed his fine collar bones.

“We try our best,” Joey answered with a slight shrug of the shoulders: he couldn't shrug more than that. “Well, he does anyway.”

“Joe the hockey player,” Charlie teased him.

“Joe the fuckin' hockey player,” Joey retorted back to him.

Soon, she turned to the block of clay next to him. She did the same there as she did with the one next to Charlie: caressed it down and modeled it to where it resembled the basic shape of Joey's shoulders and his upper back and his chest.

When she washed her hands again, Charlie fidgeted in his seat.

“My back's starting to ache,” he complained.

“Why you be slouchin' then,” she teased him.

“Make me laugh, baby,” Charlie retorted.

“Make you laugh?”

“Yeah.”

Robyn turned around to take a look at him with her hands still dripping wet. She directed her attention to Joey. He sat there in the buff before her with his hands in his lap and one foot resting on the rung of the stool like a gangly little boy.

Her thick lips curled up into a smile.

“I'll make you laugh, alright—”

Her hands still dripping wet, she ambled over to Joey. She nudged his hands out of his lap so she could see him in his entirety. Her hands glided around his waist and the small of his back. She loomed right over his pelvic area.

Her bright eyes gazed up to his face for a moment. A moment long enough for that spark to kick in again.

She hung over him.

She could not resist.

She opened her mouth and proceeded to blow him right in front of Charlie. Joey gasped but he couldn't stop her. He had to remain still or else risk losing the form for the clay next to him.

“Holy fuck,” Charlie muttered. Her hands continued to fondle him to get a feel of his soft flesh and the shape of his middle. When she had them on the middle of his spine, she moved in close enough so the whole shaft was within her mouth.

She moved her head back before she gagged on him. Joey still couldn't move when she opened her eyes and gazed up at him for a moment again. She turned to the clay next to him to model the base as if nothing happened.

He looked over at Charlie, whose mouth hung agape and whose eyes enlarged at the sight of what happened.

Once she had the shape down again, she doubled back to the basin to wash her hands again.

She returned to Charlie to feel him down as well.

When she hung close to his pelvic area, she put her lips around his head and let it slip into her mouth. Joey nibbled on his bottom lip as he watched her feel Charlie up and blow him at the same time. She went deep again when she had her hands on the middle of his spine. She lifted when she lowered as far as she could go.

She returned to the clay block next to him and did the same thing there.

“I think I can work from what I felt here,” she assured them, picking up a sculpting knife from behind the wash basin. “You boys are pretty distinct in your rhythm.”

“Including what you put in your mouth?” Joey couldn't resist laughing.

“Of course, baby. An artist never forgets who she feels when she puts herself within their skin.”

Charlie began laughing himself. He brought a hand to his mouth but it was futile against his eruption of loud laughter.

“Can you boys forgive me?” she asked them, twirling the knife in her right hand.

“Yeah, I can,” said Charlie, running his hands through his thick dark hair and showing her his big smile.

“Me, too,” Joey added.


End file.
